


I Don't Like What I See.

by alexxxford



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Loves Stiles, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Fluff and Angst, Hurt!Stilles, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous!Stiles, Jealousy, M/M, Stiles thinks he isnt good enough for Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxxford/pseuds/alexxxford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For prompt - Stiles/Derek: Jealous!Stiles, Derek and Stiles are in a relationship and  Stiles gets jealous whenever someone flirts with Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Like What I See.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For the lovely padamaa, I really hope you like this! It turned out way more angsty than I had planned but htere's still some fluff and plenty of Sterek feels.  
> Oh and sorry you had to wait so long :p Hope this is what you're after.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, big thanks to MaraMcGregor for betaing this always last minute!
> 
> *WARNING: could be trigger for depression*

_**  
I don't want to be part of the problem_   
_I try so hard to get roughed up_   
_Fists on up, it looks that easy_   
_It looks that way to me_   
_It looks that way to you_   
_But then there's you telling me I can_   
_Then there's you screaming say something_   
_I want the ocean right now_   
_I want the ocean right now_   
_I get so jealous that I can't even work_   
_There I am in the morning_   
_I don't like what I see_   
_I don't know how it's become such a problem_   
_Keep you up all night if I try to remain calm_   
_How can they ask why I feel so angry_   
_Do you see my problem if I never explain it_   
_But then there's you asking me how long_   
_Say something, it's taken me so long_

_**  
_

“I refuse to believe that dating him is easy.” Lydia pops the lollipop from her mouth and swings it towards the scene ahead of them. Both she and Stiles look over to where Derek is ~~fighting~~ _training_ Isaac, Boyd _and_ Erica, all at once. As they watch, he hurls Isaac one-handed into the air. He lands against a tree ten feet away and slumps to the floor, growling with frustration rather than pain. To a human, the hit would have been completely debilitating, but Isaac only remains down for a few seconds before he is up on his feet, shaking off the pain and launching at him again.

Sure, Derek still breaks people’s arms on occasion to prove points. He prefers to access Stiles’s house through his bedroom window, rather than his front door; and, at best, his people skills are in need of updating. But they’d known Derek roughly two years now and in that time he had grown a lot. He was undoubtedly trying anyway.

“I never said it was easy,” Stiles points out, watching Erica jump and land on Derek’s back, growling and clawing at him, leaving long deep scratches. It still made Stiles cringe, even though he knew that by the time he got his hands on him, all signs of the fighting would have mended. He still wasn’t quite used to the super-speedy wolf healing the majority of his friends possessed. Whatever the situation, it was still hard seeing the one you lo- _liked_ getting beaten and torn apart. Even when it was only temporary. He shudders slightly and hopes no one notices.

Lydia bounces the lolly thoughtfully, cocking her head to the side as if to try and see a different perspective of the situation. “But is it worth it?” she asks, almost rhetorically.

Stiles feels it his job to answer, to defend Derek. He opens his mouth, trying to think of a suitable response, but luckily before he has a chance to speak, Scott interrupts them.

“Okay, okay I think they’ve had enough for today!” he jumps in, holding his arm out to block Boyd from another assault on Derek whose shirt is torn and bloodied, even if his wounds have all already healed. Derek straightens up, swiping the back of his hand roughly against his sweat drench forehead. It is mid-July and too hot to _stand_ let alone train.

“No way! He’s totally tiring!” Erica throws her hands in the air in frustration before shooting a look over her shoulder and winking at Derek cheekily.

Stiles feels an anxious heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Subconsciously, his fists clench at his sides, his jaw clamping shut.

Derek just rolls his eyes at her but he wears an affectionate smile as he does it. “I’m not,” he tells her cockily and Stiles blinks because _are they flirting_? Like . . . right in front of him?

“You’re insatiable Derek,” she laughs, wandering over and slinging an arm across Stiles’s shoulders. “You must not be working him hard enough,” she purrs into his ear, her hot breath tickling his neck. He pulls away roughly. He whirls his head around at Erica, glaring, but she doesn’t notice, skipping happily over to Boyd, nudging him with her elbow and grinning. He gives her a rare smile in response and they lead the way.

They all head back to their cars on the edge of the preserve, not able to walk home across town when half of them are caked in dirt and blood. That had brought about questions. They learned that hard way...

Derek falls easily into step beside Stiles.

“Do you want to come back to mine for a bit?” he asks brusquely. Stiles shakes his head, still riled from his and Erica’s little exchange a few moments before. He would have to do better than that.

“I have school in the morning Derek.”

“Just for a bit? We could watch a film. I can drop you home after? Make curfew,” Derek rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he asks, because he does not do normal relationships; and, for some reason, he is still finding it way more awkward to ask Stiles out for dinner than to ask him to suck his cock. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Pass,” he grumbles, picking up his pace to reach Isaac ahead. Derek does notfollow.

**

 

Stiles does not see Derek again until Friday. Anytime the alpha texts or rings, he would come up with an excuse. He tells him that he is busy with midterms or revision, a history project, Lacrosse, anything to avoid talking with Derek. Admittedly, Scott still finds time for Allison. He is not sure if he wants Derek to figure this out or not.

He is not looking forward to tonight. Lydia had found a bar just outside of town that never checked IDs and they had adopted it as their Friday night hang out, since they were all still pitifully underage, Derek the obvious exception. Stiles is not sure if he even liked the drinking. Whilst drinking, sure he enjoyed it, but it was so easy to go too far, and he always woke up feeling . . . dirty. However, it never stopped him from doing it again the following week.  
Sometimes, on a slow night, they would head to Jungle afterwards. Stiles looked forward to that even less. He hopes tonight is not one of those slow nights.

Derek picks him up at half eight. He had offered to take Stiles for a rare dinner beforehand, but Stiles had graciously declined. Stiles was quite sure he had only suggested it because he thought he should. Not because he really wanted to.

“Evening Sheriff,” the Alpha flashes a bright smile and offers a small wave over Stiles’s shoulder at his father. The sheriff was not… _over the moon_ about Stiles’s new relationship, but Derek was nothing if not charming and he was starting to win him over. Slowly.

Stiles pushes him out the door before his dad has a chance to reply. “Come on big guy, quit flirting with my dad.” Derek stumbles on the steps but corrects his footing on the bottom where Stiles would have landed on his arse.

“Stiles!” he laughs. “Shut up!”

But Stiles does not smile. He just frog-marches the older man across the drive to his Camaro.

The car ride is nearly silent. Derek attempts small talk for a while but Stiles’s mind is elsewhere, giving nothing in return and soon the older man gives up. They pull up at the bar fifteen minutes later. The others are already there and in Scott’s case already half-drunk. He greets them enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Stiles’s neck, but Stiles freezes up, awkwardly patting his back. He is feeling tense. His eyes follow Derek over Scott’s shoulder as he heads to the bar to get them both a Corona. He’s fixated on the wolf’s every move. The woman behind the bar is older, maybe thirty, but she looks great. She has a petite figure but her tight white uniform t-shirt is stretched across her generous chest. Her long golden blonde hair is curled neatly and she has gorgeous chocolate brown eyes lined neatly, making them look feline and alluring. She smiles brightly at Derek revealing a set of pearly white teeth. _Of course._

Derek is smiling too. That charming smile. Why is he doing the charming smile? He can see them talking. Much more is said than _‘two Coronas please’._

Stiles steps away, greeting Isaac and Boyd un-enthusiastically, ignoring Erica, and wanders over to the couch in the corner and drops down miserably between Allison and Lydia. Derek doesn’t even bring his beer over for what feels like an eternity because he is too busy chatting with the barmaid.

He wanders over eventually, unapologetic.

“Y’know, Liz’s dad is a Chevrolet dealer. She gave me his number. She said he could probably tell me what that rattling noise is, see if it’s anything serious,” he says, handing Stiles the bottle.

“The rattling noise is called driving-at-90-mph,” Stiles says sarcastically, snatching his drink. _Liz?_ Does she need a name? She is a barmaid for Christ sake.

Derek smirks proudly when Scott pats him on the back and demands a round of darts, which with werewolf vision seems kind of pointless, they both almost always get triple twenty.  
  
“So, what’s wrong?” Lydia asked, both she and Allison both turning in to face Stiles.

Stiles chokes, dropping the bottle away from his lips, eyes widening. “What?” he pleads ignorance, shrugging awkwardly and leaning back into the old couch, staring at the slice of lime floating in his beer, which is suddenly, _really_ interesting.

“Sweetie,” Lydia rests a slim hand on his knee, giving it a friendly squeeze. “You’re not yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

“Stiles you’ve hardly said three words since we got here!”

“So-“

“So you usually say three words a second!” she looks up at Allison, who dips her head in a faint encouraging nod, then back to Stiles. “Okay, look, we know it’s none of our business . . . and we’ve been trying not to get involved . . . but...” she trails off.

Allison picks up where Lydia left off, her voice soft, “We’re all… super happy for you and Derek. And… obviously we were surprised, but it’s so clear he likes you and..”

“You just seem miserable!” Lydia bursts as if she’d been holding it in for days, which, by the sound of it, maybe she had.

“I don’t-.. no we-.. you’re over reacting. I’m fine.” Stiles stutters out and even he can hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

They both raise an eyebrow in unison, it was almost comical and if he was in a better mood he might have laughed. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t. He just feels annoyed at them for prying. He knows he shouldn’t, because they’re his friends and they’re just looking out for him. He knows that they mean well, but everything just grates on him these days. It’s not like they can help it. They can’t make him worthy of a guy like Derek. They can’t stop every person they pass flirting with Derek. Unless they’re prepared to tattoo ‘property of Stiles’ across Derek’s forehead, they are of no use to him.

“Stiles-“

“I’m fine,” he growls, jumping up and storming away from them to order another beer. Or six.

 

The evening steadily goes downhill from there. Derek is still totally unaware of what he’s doing wrong, but increasingly aware that _something_ is wrong. But Stiles remains tight lipped and cold.

Derek slips his arms around Stiles’s waist, pulling his body flush to his side and nuzzling his nose into Stiles’s hair, inhaling his scent.

“ _Stiles,_ ” he breathes, his breath smelling of alcohol but he’s not drunk. Just.. hyper-aware.

Stiles wriggles in his grasp. Derek had spent the last twenty minutes talking to the barmaid. Before that, he’d been bending Danny over the pool table, teaching him to pot the coloured balls without the white following. Before that, he’d struck up a conversation with a random guy at the bar. Sure, Stiles was obviously giving him the cold-shoulder, but Derek could at least put in some effort. It was like he didn’t even want to make things right.

“What?” Stiles exhales.

“You’ve hardly spoken to me,” he whines, dipping his head down, brushing his lips against the hollow below Stiles’s ear. Stiles freezes. Goosebumps prickle across his skin. His initial instinct is _retreat retreat,_ but as Derek’s teeth graze his earlobe, his resolve evaporates and he feels his body melt into Derek’s with a sigh.

“I know,” he nods guiltily. His arms automatically reach up and wrap around Derek, whose hand has dipped under the hem of Stiles’s t-shirt and his thumb was now stroking lazy circles at his hip.

“I don’t like it,” Derek mutters against Stiles’s lips before slotting their mouths together, sweeping his tongue across Stiles’s bottom lip before pushing it into his mouth to explore. Things become heated between the two of them quickly, they always do, and Derek groans as he forces himself away before they cause a scene in the middle of the pub and get barred from the only place in Beacon Hills Stiles can get served.  “Liz said you lo-“

Stiles ripped himself away. “Liz? _Really?_ What the fuck does Liz know? What does she know about anything?!”

“Stiles I was just-“Derek reaches to pull him back, but Stiles jumps back, lifting his arms out of Derek’s grasp.

“Whatever Derek. I wanna go home, I’ve got a headache.”

“But-“

“Please. Just take me home.”

Derek reluctantly obliges, saying no more.

**

When Stiles wakes up hungover and alone, he feels like an idiot. Liz was definitely flirting with Derek, but even if Derek was flirting back, it meant nothing. He likes Stiles. He chose to date Stiles. Derek has plenty of options for dating where Stiles barely has any. This means if anything, it means more that Derek chose to date him over anyone else, but Stiles couldn’t quite see it that way.

He texts a lame apology Sunday night.

**

It is the next Saturday. The glowing green numbers on Stiles’s clock radio tells him its 6:02am.

Stiles looks over his shoulder at Derek, who’s passed out naked on his bed. They’d been at the pub again last night but Stiles had managed to control his mood, at least outwardly. He’d felt more depressed than angry this week anyway.  
He swallows, his eyes roaming his boyfriends chiselled body. He’s so masculine and muscular with his faintly tanned skin and light smattering of body hair in all the right places in all the right proportions. He’s a god. He’s too good.

He then looks back at himself in his bedroom mirror. He’s all pale translucent skin with visible blue green veins, bones jutting out and random freckles. His hair is messy and not in a hot way like Derek’s, in a dorky, unattractive way. And he has bags under his eyes, marring any kind of attractiveness he may possess.

Derek is so out of his league. He must be totally kidding himself with this. If Derek wasn’t such a good person he’d assume it was some kind of joke. If Derek was older ,he’d assume he was his midlife crisis. As it was, he couldn’t think of any logical explanation as why someone as.. _desirable_ as Derek would date someone like him, and that was becoming a problem.

He’s tired. Too tired. None of the thoughts that cross his mind at this time of day, night, are positive or valuable but he cannot stop waking up and thinking them, torturing himself needlessly.

He lets out an exasperated breath and drops his forehead to the table with a clunk. _Fuck._ No wonder Derek couldn’t keep his eyes off of literally everyone when they were out together.

“ _Stiles?”_

Stiles jolts awake, his computer chair shooting backwards across the room. He would have fallen if it weren’t for Derek, who was up like a shot, wrapping his arm around his waist, catching him and holding him tight against his body. Stiles gasps in a shocked breath before relaxing against him, closing his eyes again for a second, resting his head back on Derek’s shoulder, heartbeat thudding in his chest.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Derek asks softly in his ear.

Stiles freezes, then pulls away, straightening his t-shirt and wandering over to make the bed. “Doing what?” he shrugs. Why is he making the bed? It is fucking six am on a Saturday. He should just get back in and cuddle with his own personal Greek god who’s giving him serious pouty face.

Derek drops down into the computer chair and watches him curiously. “When I stay over, I fall asleep with you in my arms, but when I wake up, you’re sitting at your computer...”

“H... has that happened before?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“Sometimes... I... like to Google stuff... in the night.”

The alpha quirks an eyebrow, his expression telling Stiles he’s not convinced. He waits with baited breath but Derek just shrugs and pads over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist again from behind and nuzzling at his neck, hot breath enveloping him. His lips graze against Stiles’s sensitive skin as he talks in a voice so soft and sultry Stiles is pretty sure the rest of the pack would not believe that it came from his mouth. “You wanna _get dirty then get clean?_ ” This was an act they’d perfected early in their relationship. Stiles had finally convinced his dad to let Derek sleep over, but his dad had made it very clear it was for _sleeping._ So much so that the bedroom door had to be left open over-night. So they’d taken to switching the shower on, getting frisky, then hopping in together. It took the right amount of time as two long, separate showers, and the Sheriff left them in peace.

Stiles pulls away again, shaking his head. “No I... it’s too early... you can shower.” He can feel Derek’s frown without even seeing it and he feels guilty, but he’s just not in the mood.

“Stiles... we haven’t... we haven’t had sex in like... a fortnight. Is something wrong? D... did I hurt you?”

“No! Derek just- take a shower. I’m gonna go and make some coffee!” Stiles can feel himself blushing as he darts from the room and hurries down the stairs, unable to even look at his wolf.

**  


Everything finally comes to blows at Jungle the next weekend. It’s been a long time coming. And it’s not pretty. Stiles had spent two hours getting ready, half an hour of which poor Derek had sat downstairs waiting, _with his dad._

Stiles tried on every shirt he owned, but they all suddenly looked ridiculous. Derek had turned up in a simple, classic, black shirt with long sleeves and shiny, silver cufflinks. It was tucked into tight black jeans and he had smart, expensive looking shoes on. He looked like a fucking Gucci advert. He was model handsome and nothing Stiles owned would make him look like anything other than a joke next to him.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to improve himself. He’d started working out. First with Scott, but Scott was lazy. He jogged and did weights a couple of times a week but the results were too slow. Maybe weight training everyday combined with eating decreasing amounts wasn’t the best way to achieve body builder status. He was thin and muscular and pointy and he looked like he needed a good meal in all of his outfits. They were too baggy and... he chucked another one on to the pile on the floor.

“You look great in anything,” Derek tells him, making him jump as he enters Stiles’s room. He begins picking up the discarded shirts and folding them.

“Derek!” he yells, grabbing the nearest top and covering himself with it. “I’m getting changed, get out!” he yells, picking up a polo shirt and launching it at him to re-enforce his point.

Derek just catches it though, stupid werewolf reflexes. Stiles is prepared for that, however he was not prepared for the hurt look on Derek’s face. He looks like he wants to say something, his brows pulling together in frustration, but he decides against it, turning to leave, and Stiles feels worse than ever.

“No I... I’m sorry I didn’t mean…” Stiles tries but Derek just leaves. _Everyone gives up eventually._

Jungle is packed as always. Even less surprisingly, fifty percent of the people in the club seem intent on dancing with Derek. _His_ boyfriend.

Stiles tries to bite his lip, but what’s the point. He’s miserable. Surely he couldn’t be any more miserable if he and Derek broke up. Surely, it couldn’t get worse than this.

He leaned back on the bar. He’d had six beers. And two shots. It wasn’t a massive amount, but it was sufficient to cloud his judgment. His pale brown eyes are fixed onto two figures on the dance floor. Derek had been dancing with the others in a group. Stiles could handle that. He still didn’t like the way Danny looked at him, but, he could at least trust his teammate not to act on impulse. But another guy had now intercepted the group, at first dancing with everyone, twirling Allison around, joking with Jackson. Now however, he had his back to the group and was solely facing Derek. To make it worse, he was shirtless. Come on! And the guy had total washboard abs. Abs that would challenge even Derek’s.

They weren’t physically touching. Derek wasn’t even really looking at him. But the guy was very obviously dancing with him, swaying in time. Their hips bumped and Derek looked up confused, forcing a smile and looking over the guys shoulder to Scott (who was completely absorbed in Allison). The guy edges forward, reaching out and hand for Derek and Stiles has seen enough. He flies from the bar, tears in his eyes he shoves through the crowd blindly.

_“Stiles come back!”_

“I’m surprised you even noticed I’m leaving! You’ve had your eyes on glued to that guy’s abs the whole night! I mean, dude, who doesn’t wear a shirt to a club like _really?”_

Derek’s eyebrows pull together in total confusion and frustration. “What? Stiles I-“

“Oh shut up Derek!” Stiles yells and storms right out of the club, bursting out into the now cool night’s air. Derek fights his way through the maze of gyrating bodies, trying to keep up with Stiles because even with his keen senses of smell and hearing he cannot track him here. It’s too loud and too crowded and everyone smells different and are shouting.

Stiles is thin and lithe and gets away from him. Did he go outside? He slides out his phone, calling Stiles, who doesn’t pick up, then tries dialling Scott for help.

Stiles is livid. More than that, he’s devastated. He’d been so stupid. So utterly goddamned stupid to think that Derek could ever be satisfied with him.

He calls a taxi to take him home. He manages to stop crying long enough to answer Scott’s seventh call, which he only does to stop Derek from coming to look for him, which he inevitable would if he thought Stiles to be M.I.A.

 _“Dude where are you?”_ Comes Scott’s worried voice, the noise of the club loud in the background. _“Derek just rang me, he’s freaking out!”_

_“I’m home and in bed and I need you to stop ringing me okay?”_

_“You’re at home? But Stiles, Derek-“_

_“Tell him to stop calling too. And if he’s even thinking about coming round here then tell him no. I don’t want to see him or speak to him or…” he chokes out a breath, rubbing his eyes._

_“Stiles, are you… do you want me to come over?”_

_“No! No… not tonight.”_

_“Tomorrow?”_

_“If you must. But Scott, I’m serious about Derek.”_

_“Okay. Well, night Stiles.”_

Stiles switches his phone off, tosses it across his room and throws himself into bed, falling into another fit of crying.

**

Scott turns up Saturday morning with an industrial sized bag of Doritos and a spare Xbox remote. They spend the whole day playing Modern Warfare 2 and not talking.

Sunday, he shows up with Lacrosse sticks and they drive out to the preserve and practice all day then lie on their backs and watch the stars and don't talk.

He follows him home from school Monday and Tuesday and they still don't talk.

It's not until Wednesday that Scott sighs and hits pause just as the wrongfully-imprisoned Andy Dufresne emerges from Shawshank penitentiary into the torrential downpour outside, arms raised high, running away... then stopping dead. No, that’s the dvd.

Stiles glares at his best friend. This is the bit he had been waiting for from the start.  
  
"Are we talking about this?" Scott eventually asks, looking at Stiles nervously.  
  
Stiles continues to watch the frozen screen. "I had hoped not."  
  
His best friend sighs. He eases himself up off the bed and flicks the Xbox and TV off. He drops down into Stiles’s computer chair and spins to face him, folding his arms across his chest and trying his best to look intimidating.  
  
"Stiles, what's going on?"  
  
"Nothing! I don't know what you're talking about" he folds his arms definitely.  
  
"You know-"  
  
"Scott! Just drop it will you!"  
  
His best mate then tries a different approach, slumping back in the high-backed leather chair and propping his feet up on the bed. He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.  
  
"You've broken up with Derek?" he asks softly.  
  
Stiles lays down, throwing an arm over his face and groaning dramatically. "Ergh. I don't know." Then he snaps up quickly. "Wait! Does he think we're broken up?"  
  
"He doesn't know what to think. All he did was talk to a guy. Literally, no flirting. And you flipped out-"  
  
"But it’s not the first time! Every time we go out-"  
  
"Stiles, dude. I'm on your side. You know that. I always am. But he... he's not doing anything wrong. "  
  
Neither of them speak for a while. Scott doesn't want to push it and Stiles doesn't want to argue or concede.  
After a few minutes Scott starts to feel himself drifting off, his head lolling to the side, waking him with a start.  
  
"I gotta go." He sighs. The chair may be comfy but the atmosphere is definitely not.  
  
Stiles lies flat on his back staring at the ceiling. It's almost pitch black in the room now. He nods silently.  
  
"Just... talk to him, please." Scott says quietly as he leaves through the window.  
  
  
Thursday is awkward. Stiles isn't even sure if it’s him or Scott making it awkward, but by lunch he finds himself opting to eat on his own rather than be subjected to his best friend’s sad puppy face any longer. Scott doesn’t understand. Allison is gorgeous, if not a little out of his league, but it is nothing compared to Stiles and Derek, who are at complete opposite ends of the dating spectrum. Plus, Stiles suspects Scott is too oblivious to feel insecure.  
  
By the time he gets home, he's mentally exhausted and is planning on heading straight for bed, but of course, his dad has other ideas.  
  
"I cooked." The sheriff beams proudly when Stiles pokes his head round the kitchen door, trying to locate the source of the burning smell. Sure enough, a thick grey fog crouches on the ceiling. He fans in front of his face in a vain attempt to get some breathable air.

“You burned, you mean.”

“Ooh! What did I do to deserve such a cruel son?” the sheriff mocks offense as he pulls a rather crispy looking pasta bake from the oven. He places the dish on the counter. “Lay the table, kiddo!”

“I’m really not in the m-“

“ _Stiles!”_ His dad warns and okay, laying the table now.

They sit in silence across from each other, neither too enthusiastic about the meal.

“I guess I should have gotten take out if I wanted to talk,” the Sheriff quips, twirling a never ending elastic string of cheese onto his fork before crunching down on some uncooked pasta, because the top was burned and the bottom was raw but there was definitely about ten pieces in the middle that were alright…

Stiles groans. “You too?” he mumbles.

“I’m your father.  You think I haven’t noticed you’re unhappy? I... I know I’m not good at these talks. Hell, I always wish your mum was here, but if there’s ever a time I really _need_ her, it’s times like these.” He sighs wearily. “But Stiles, you know you can talk to me. About anything.”

“What if I don’t wanna talk?” Stiles has his face rested on his hand, pushing his fork through the sticky lump of cheese on his plate.

“Well then listen. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know that I haven’t seen you texting this week. You haven’t been on the phone at midnight, bright and animated even though you have to be up in six hours, and I haven’t seen Derek since Friday. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

He waits, but Stiles remains silently intent on destroying his dinner with his cutlery.

“Okay, and I can’t give you advice, I don’t...” He sighs, frustrated. “Look, all I know is when you’re with him, you’re happy. Maybe not so much recently. But when you first got together, you were elated. You were bright and joking and your sarcasm was at least halved. Stiles you have a habit of… over thinking things. You’re young. If hanging with Derek makes you happy - my God I can’t believe I’m saying it - then you should do it. Nothing else really matters.”

Stiles drops his fork with a loud clatter. “But Dad, he’s too good for me! It’s so fucking obvious but no one says it but I know and I don’t know why he’s with me. He can’t love me. I’m annoying and skinny and nerdy and I talk too much and he could have anyone and when we go out...” He’s breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed red and his dad notes the seriousness of the situation as tears are brimming in his son’s eyes, a sight he hasn’t seen since his mum passed.

The Sheriff slams his fist on the table. “Stiles, don’t you _ever_ say that! Don’t you _dare_ ever think you’re not good enough for anyone!” He curbs his anger and sighs, trying again, softer. “Has Derek ever given you reason to believe he think he’s worth more than you?”

“… No.”

“Well then, that’s all that matters. Stiles, when I met your mother, she was the most beautiful girl in our class. She moved over from Poland when we were in eight grade and she was this _exotic_ , dark haired, intelligent girl who _all_ the boys were after. I wasn’t popular. I didn’t even have the fall back of being a nerd,” the words _like you_ go unspoken but Stiles doesn’t take offense because his dad wouldn’t mean it that way. “I had a few friends but was nothing special, nothing that could capture her attention. One day, all the jocks were crowding her, I made some lame joke about how many lacrosse players does it take to ask out a pretty girl and you know what? She laughed. The next day, I asked her if she wanted to sit with us at lunch, and she said yes. I got to know her. Turned out she was a complete nerd, she collected comic books like most girls collected phone numbers.”

They fall quiet for a long time, Stiles’s dad deep in a daydream of the past Stiles wouldn’t dare interrupt. When his dad shows no sign of stopping, he finally does.

“I should talk to him?” Stiles asks quietly.

“Only you know kid. But don’t let _anyone_ else have an effect your relationship. It should only matter what you and Derek think, no one else.”

**

Stiles wakes up late Friday. His dad hadn’t woken him. When he gets downstairs he spots a note stuck to the fridge from his dad. 

‘ _Called in early today and won’t be back_ _til_ _late. Think about what I said last night. And let me know if you’re not staying at home. Love you’_  

He peels the note off and turns it over in his nimble fingers thoughtfully. This was a big deal. The Sheriff had begrudgingly allowed Derek to stay over on the weekends, but he’d been adamant that Stiles was by no means allowed to sleep at Derek’s loft where he couldn’t keep an eye on them. But this note distinctly seemed to be implying that he _could_ stay at Derek’s. Too bad it was a week too late… 

Stiles opens the fridge pulling out the orange juice and chugging half straight from the carton. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, shoving the rest back inside and scanning the shelves for anything breakfast worthy, but nothing catches his eye. There were eggs, but Stiles could never crack them without smashing the shell, and crunchy omelettes were gross. Derek cracked them perfectly every time. 

He slams the fridge door shut and storms back upstairs to take an aggressive shower. Apparently, showering angrily takes a long time because when he eventually steps out its past eight and even if he left now - in his towel - he’d be late for school. He stops for a moment, towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping shower water on his bedroom floor. 

“ _Fuck it,”_ he grumbles, drying his hair roughly and opening his laptop and iTunes he begins to get ready to a backdrop of Jimmy Eat World, because _Pain_ just fits right now. 

It’s still only nine thirty, knee bouncing anxiously. His Adderall wouldn’t touch his jitters today. It wasn’t his ADHD, this was pure, undeniable nerves.  

   
He scrolls through his emails on his phone for a bit before checking the time again. 9:37. He gets up, pacing. Is he actually going to do this? Is he crazy? What good can possibly come of this? He’s just going to embarrass himself. Embarrass Derek. At least if they simply cut their losses now there’s a chance they could go back to being _some_ kind of friends. Nope. He marches passed his keys, grabbing them and heading straight out the door. Yes. He really is doing this. 

 

He circles town three times before pulling up outside of Derek’s. He’d been trying to calm his nerves, but they were getting worse and worse with every passing minute. 

He sat locked in the jeep, hands clamped firmly around the steering wheel, left and right foot tapping anxiously on the clutch and accelerator. He’d taken the keys out. 

Ten minutes later, his phone vibrates in his back pocket making him jump a mile. He flails, pulling it out. 

 _‘R U_ _gonna_ _just sit outside or R U coming in?’_  

When had Derek learnt text language? He’d forgotten his werewolf boyfriend recognized his scent from a mile off and could probably hear his ridiculous heartbeat. _Feel his nerves._  

Stiles hand was shaking as he tried to tap out a reply and he soon gave up. He sucked in a deep breath. Right. Doing this. Now. 

He only stumbles once on his way to Derek’s front door. He doesn’t bother knocking. Derek is waiting for him in the lounge, leaning on the window sill, arms folded across his chest, accentuating his ridiculous biceps. He looks extra sexy and extra menacing today in tight black jeans and a tight black t-shirt. It’s almost as if he’d done it on purpose. 

Stiles stands awkwardly before him, hoping Derek will say something which of course, he doesn’t. 

“Hi ...” 

Derek raises an eyebrow looking totally unimpressed. He snorts a humourless laugh. “Hi? Really?” 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck anxiously. 

Derek drops his arms to his sides and stalks to the kitchen. “If you have nothing to say, then just leave,” he calls. 

Stiles clasps his hands together, trying to stop them from shaking. He can feel that familiar burn behind his eyeballs, tears, threatening to fall. He blinks, looking up at the ceiling to hold them in. He squeezes his jaw shut then relaxes it. 

“We need to talk,” he says weakly. Anyone without super-human hearing wouldn’t have heard but he’s sure Derek has. 

“We’ve needed to talk for a while,” comes a distant reply. 

“Yeah, well it takes two –“ 

“I’ve tried Stiles. Dammit,” Derek growls, reappearing a shoving a beer into his hands, tearing the cap off of it with his teeth and drinking the whole thing in three big gulps. “I’ve tried to talk to you, I’ve tried to make you happy. I’ve been treading on fucking eggshells for weeks and I’m over it. I haven’t _done_ anything wrong! But you’re never going to let this work are you?” 

Stiles takes a sip of his Budweiser, but he can’t swallow it. He puts the beer down on the coffee table carefully where Derek snatches it up and finishes it. 

“You realise you can’t get drunk ...” 

He receives a - perhaps - deserved glare for that.  

Derek waits for him to say something; but he remains silent, staring hard at the wooden floorboards. He waits three minutes before sighing, shaking his head, and walking over, dropping onto the couch and flicking the TV on. ESPNU is showing highlights from some baseball game between teams Stiles hasn’t even heard off. 

Stiles stands rooted to the spot for a while longer. He’s not even _thinking._ Just feeling. Feeling like shit. Feeling like he’s about to lose the best thing in his life because he’s too bloody stupid to face his issues. He’s totally disconnected. He’s been a shitty boyfriend to Derek from the start and Derek had just put up with it. God Derek deserved so much better. 

   
But if that was true, why did he look so fucking sad. Literally like a kicked puppy. God, Stiles was no werewolf but he could feel the angst _radiating_ from Derek.  Because of him. And it wasn’t new. Every time they fought. Every time Stiles pulled away from him. He could _see_ the hurt all over Derek’s face. God, he was a bad person. He had convinced himself Derek would be better off without him, but what if he wasn’t? Derek had lost everyone he had ever loved, and Stiles was about to put him through it again. Sure, Derek deserved a thousand times better than him, but he also deserved to make that choice for himself. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles voice is tiny and broken and so pathetic he almost breaks his own heart, but Derek freezes, before dropping his head in his hands. 

“Stiles, I love you so fucking much. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, or- or how I’m making you so miserable. I would do _anything_ for you. Give you the world, just to see you smile. You never smile anymore.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“Shut up. _Shut up.”_  

A violent tremor rakes through the whole of Stiles’s body. “I don’t know what to do!” he finally sobs, and drops to his knees. It is so dramatic; but it doesn’t feel like it, it feels like he’s being dragged down by all the emotions and he just doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. But Derek is right there with him, prying his hands from his face, kissing the inside of his wrists, stroking a hand through his hair, whispering reassurances and pulling him flush against his bigger, warmer body. 

“Please, just tell me what to do,” the older man tells him. 

Stiles pulls back “Stop loving me?” he tries, eyes red and wet, but a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Not an option,” Derek says with utter conviction. 

“Oh. I guess I’ll just have to be a better boyfriend then.” 

“Sound like too much work?” 

Stiles chuckles again lightly, wiping his eyes. “No. Never.” 

 Derek’s hand slips from the back of Stiles head down to his neck, pulling him closer and pushing their lips together.  

“So worth it,” Stiles whispers against his lips. 

Derek’s hands are slow and careful as they slip lower on Stiles’s body, rubbing down his sides, massaging at his hips, his thumbs tucking underneath the hem of his jumper. His touch is warm and appreciative and it feels so good Stiles can’t believe that for the last couple of months he’d been denying himself this, denying them both. 

Stiles moans into his boyfriend’s mouth, canting his hips up to grind against Derek, creating that delicious friction he’d missed so much. 

“I’ve missed you,” Derek whispers, lips brushing Stiles ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth, then trailing his lips down Stiles neck, sucking at his pulse point. 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles can’t say it enough, but he can show it he thinks. Derek lifts him with ease and carries him into his bedroom, drops him on the bed and covers the younger man’s body with his own. 

“Why don’t you show me how sorry you are?” the werewolf practically purrs, fixing his mouth against Stiles’s, lapping into the warmth of his mouth and caressing his tongue with his own, humming with pleasure when Stiles wraps his legs around his hips and pulls him closer.  

** 

Things don’t get better immediately, despite them both working fucking hard at it. Derek even tries not to talk to _anyone_ outside the pack for a while; but, obviously, that cannot be kept up for long, and Stiles knows he shouldn’t have to do that, he just appreciates the sentiment.  

In the end, it’s Scott who helps Stiles work it out. The wise words of Scott McCall. Who would have thought, right? 

“Have you noticed the way he looks at you?” the young werewolf muses one day. They were at the park. Derek was training with his betas again and Scott and Stiles were watching from the swing set.  

Stiles blushes but feigns ignorance. “Huh? What do you mean?” 

“Derek. I mean, he’s a totally different person since he started dating you. Like, he actually makes jokes sometimes, and your sarcasm is totally rubbing off on him which totally sucks for the rest of us may I add. But that’s not even it. I don’t think I even noticed those changes in him until I saw the way he looked at you, that’s when it all clicked.” 

“What do you mean? How does he look at me?”  

Scott shakes his head with a wry smile. “Like ... he’s happy. Relaxed even. Like he trusts you. He looks at you like; yeah he’s had a shit life, and he’s been close to giving up, but now he’s got you, and everything _might_ just be okay. One of these days -” he says, sounding almost wistful. 

Stiles is silent for a while before laughing. “Really dude?! Where did that come from?!” 

And now Scott is blushing too. He shoves Stiles who shoves him back. “Shut up man! He’s my alpha, it’s a bond. I can’t explain it. You think I wanna noticed all these things? I can’t help it man. “ 

“So soppy! ‘ _he’s my alpha’,_ you love him really!” 

“Hey, I’m not always his biggest fan. But seriously, if you ever left him, I’d kill you. You two are so … right” 

When Stiles became aware of the way Derek looked at him, he finally began to accept Derek’s love for him. Couldn’t understand it, still wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it, but realised that maybe it just was what it was. He loved Derek and Derek loved him and however complicated and crazy it seemed on the outside, really it was just that simple. 

 

 


End file.
